“Swimming pools do have a Pavlovian effect on people’s bladders,” Celia Imrie chuckles to a not quite six-year-old Tamsin Greig, as the two actors float about an imaginary pool in the intimate space of the Donmar Warehouse.
For the first 20 minutes of Backstroke, Greig paces about the hospital room where Imrie’s character lies catatonic, nervously clashing with the supporting cast of nurses and doctors – and desperately wanting for a scene partner.
Designed by Lez Brotherston right down to the cigarette-stained Seventies linoleum flooring, the set evokes claustrophobia – forcing the actors into tight proxemics to squeeze the vulnerability and tension from them, all the while making audiences feel the familiar strain of staying one too many days back home during Christmas break.
Through a scattershot mix of pre-taped and performed memories, we learn how this topsy-turvy relationship came to be, with Greig playing Bo in memories that go back as far as when she is six years old.
To everyone’s delight, finally Imrie springs to life, leaping from her vegetative state to their recreated kitchen table, cigarette in hand, feet up, suddenly regaling her daughter with stories of her sexual escapades in blush-worthy detail.
